


hard for me to know i might see you around

by coffeelouis (silverspoonharry)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Airport AU, M/M, New York City, tinder au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverspoonharry/pseuds/coffeelouis
Summary: The next profile shows a guy and his horse both crashing into the ground, the bio below reading:"Hi, I'm Louis, I suck at riding horses so I ride dick."Harry rolls his eyes and swipes left, but before he can consider the next profile in his feed, there’s a quiet “Oof” from right behind him.[or, a TINDER AU where Harry swipes left on Louis' joke of a profile, then ends up stuck next to him on a trans-Atlantic flight.]





	hard for me to know i might see you around

**Author's Note:**

> so this is based on [this tweet](https://mobile.twitter.com/taylor_stag/status/1067199832408739847?s=21) and [this post](https://knowyourmeme.com/photos/1383894-tinder). i dont have much to say but thanks for reading and to ellie and anitra for putting up with me submitting this at the literal last moment possible. please also appreciate the lengths i took to find an alternate link to that photo that wasn't just the post on my blog because this is meant to be an anonymous exchange.
> 
> title from james bay's "bad."

Harry loves airports.

He realizes that this is a novel opinion to hold, that the average person would fucking despise standing idle for hours on end just for their turn to to sit in a metal tube for even longer. But the idea that everyone around him is traveling to somewhere new, that they’re all excited to see different places, to visit family and friends that they have not seen in a long time, that they’ll be going home to the people and places they love. He thrives off this energy, even if no one else around him is exuding it.

He also loves the idea of having hours on end when he’s not obligated to complete his work or respond to emails or be in any way productive. He’s totally allowed to sit in the gate, read the new book he bought at Hudson, and relax.

Except.

He absolutely does _not_ appreciate it when his red-eye is delayed three hours, he’s finished his book, and the shop is closed because his flight was meant to take off at 9pm. When that happens, he wishes he had some obligation to work on, or that anyone was awake to give him something to do, rather than mindlessly swiping through Tinder waiting for his goddamn flight to take off.

It’s useless anyway. He was in New York for a work conference, which is now _over_ and he’s flying back to London, where he _lives_ so what is even the point of matching with anyone on this pile of profiles as he’s never going to see them. Ever again. And yet, he still can’t stop the mindless swiping.

He should have taken advantage of the active airport when he had a chance. There’s lots of shopping around and it’s all Duty Free. His mum’s birthday is coming up and he’d been meaning to get her a gift on the trip, but hadn’t had time with their packed schedule. Now he’s looking at the abandoned Kate Spade with it’s bright New York-inspired line—yellow taxi wallets and skyscraper key chains—she and Gemma would have loved gifts like that, but his idiot self was so engrossed in his novel he sped through it at the gate while the shops were open, and now that his flight’s delayed, he’s finished his book and everything around him has closed.

So here he is, sadly swiping on Tinder because he can think of nothing better to do late at night and he’s fully fed up with all the games on his phone after playing them for days on subway rides, passing the time underground with no cell service.

On his screen, there’s a cute guy with curly, sandy hair smiling with his mates on some rooftop in Brooklyn, the Manhattan skyline stretched out behind him. Another smiling while holding a puppy with some cheesy caption about swiping right and getting to cuddle the dog.

The thing is, he doesn’t even like Tinder that much. He’s never actually met up with someone from it, preferring to meet dates through friends of friends, or in the rare instance (okay, once) by a random happenstance. It doesn’t actually result in him going on very many dates, but it feels safer and more secure than taking a gamble on someone online. Particularly when he’s swiping in a completely separate country and he’s never going to be in the same vicinity as these men ever again.

And yet… well, there’s no other word for it, he’s fucking bored.

For a few minutes, he swipes right on all the profiles he sees, without stopping to consider them, remembering his friend Sarah telling him once about how she would swipe on several profiles at once and see how absurd the messages she received were. He quickly realizes, however, that it’s the middle of the night so most people are just going to be messaging about a booty call. If they’re even on. And more than that, she likely got those messages because she’s a girl on a dating app. He was going to get a very different response.

So he slowed down, started taking each profile as they came and really considering them. No to the guy holding up a pint of beer, yes to the guy taking a selfie, smiling shyly at the camera.

He stops himself on the next one. The [profile picture](https://knowyourmeme.com/photos/1383894-tinder) is one of a guy crashing as a horse missed its jump over a fence. The horse’s legs are flying akimbo and he and the horse are both nose-diving straight into the sand, their faces mashed into the dirt. His legs are also up in the air, at a ninety degree angle in the sky, his tight black jeans and boots stark against the brown background of dirt. Below the photo is the bio, “Hi I’m Louis, I suck at riding horses so I ride dick.”

Harry snorts. Of course it’s an elaborate pick up line. He swipes left, but before he can even consider the next guy in the feed, there’s a quiet “Oof” from behind him. He turns around to see a guy with sandy brown hair in bangs across his face, like it’s 2009 and the swooped style is still in, and stubble across his chin with his lips pursed. “So that’s a no then, huh? Don’t want to know more?”

Harry glares. “Well, it’s a bit of a stupid move, don’t you think?”

The guy shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought it was pretty clever.”

“It’s a stupid ploy for attention.”

“It’s a conversation starter.”

“To what’s likely to be a shit conversation.”

The boy raises his eyebrows, looks Harry dead in the eye and says confidently, “Never failed me before.”

Harry stares. Blinks. Gives it a moment to process in his mind. “This is… this is your profile?”

The guy smirks. “Guilty.”

Harry swallows.

“Now, can I ask, what was it that wasn’t working for you? Was it the pun? I thought that was quite ingenious, see me mate—”

Harry doesn’t actually hear what his mate thought of the ploy, because an announcement comes in over the loudspeaker, announcing the final boarding call for the flight to Paris.

“Oh, that uh—” Harry stammers, even though the boy was still going on about exactly what his mate thought of his Tinder profile picture. He stares at him blankly at the interruption, turning his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. “That’s me, so I gotta go—” Harry says, grabbing his backpack and power-walking towards the other gate.

 

Harry realizes, quite quickly, that he miscalculated and should have gone for a simpler lie, like that he had to use the bathroom or needed a coffee. Though, to be fair, who really drinks a coffee before getting on a red-eye that they’re hoping to sleep through.

Ultimately, however, he is now stuck here, pacing in a public bathroom, wearing his backpack and texting Niall frantically about the situation, afraid to touch any surfaces.

 _this isn’t funny_ 😒 

 **mate, it well fucking is** 🤣

 **why didn’t you just tell him you thought it was stupid?**  

 _how am i meant to do that?_  

**say ‘sorry, i just didn’t htink it was a funny jhoke’?**

_that’s mean!_

**that &s life.**

_i couldn’t crush his spirits like that_

**you already crushed his spirits by not swiping ☠🙀**

_nialllllllllll, HELP meeeee_ 😡 

 **idk what you want me to do, mate, i’m in another fucking coutnry**  

 _come save me from the loo pls_ 😓

**ew you’re camped in the bathroom? Your on your own, mate**

_this was the most embarassing thing ive ever doneeeeeeeeee_  

**listen, it was probably more embarassing for him than it was for you and he’s just trying to be macho about it. think about it. the worst you did was run out of there like a weirdo**

_that wasn’t great though._

**look, the uber’s here, i gotta go. i’ll see you in a few hours, okay? let me know how it goes**

Harry wants to write back that it’s not _going_ to go any further than Harry dying in an embarrassed heap right here on the Terminal 4 bathroom floor, but he knows Niall’s probably put his phone away and won’t be checking it again until Harry’s flight has taken off, so it’s a lost cause. He had already resigned himself that Niall was going to be no help, because he could admit he really couldn’t be from a pub in London at four in the morning.

But still. Some sympathy would have been nice.

Luckily, he’s only stuck playing Windin for about ten minutes before he checks the time to realize his own flight will _finally_ be boarding soon, and he ducks outside the bathroom to see that there is, indeed, a line of people outside the gate. He checks the screen to make sure, since so many people line up for ages before the gate is ready, and after the delay everyone’s bound to be extra keen, but it has actually called for the first few zones, so he makes his way over and joins the back of the queue.

He ends up one of the first ones on the plane due to his immediate queueing, so he stuffs his backpack under the seat in front of him and pulls up his Spotify, settling in against the window for the long flight.

He’s letting the subtle sounds of the Chill Hits playlist lull him to sleep when above the music he hears a cackle and a “Oh you little liar,” in a loud and disturbingly familiar voice. He cracks his eyes open to see the boy from the gate shoving his carry-on unceremoniously into the bin above them. “Missed your plane to Paris, did you?” He jokes, smirking.

Harry blushes, sinking deeper into his seat.

“Could’ve gone with a ‘sorry, didn’t think you were very funny,’” he continues, ignoring Harry’s obvious embarrassment and muttering to himself, “‘I’m just not interested,’ or even ‘You’re just not fit enough for me,’ but no, he goes with ‘I’m off to Paris!’” He closes the overhead locker with a slam and slides in next to Harry, smirking. “Wouldn’t say it’s the very best one,” he concludes.

Harry blushes an even deeper shade of scarlett.

“I mean, I don’t blame you, mate, I’d put you on the spot, but still…”

“So you’re,” Harry started, but stopped himself, feeling very slow on the uptake.

“Your seatmate, yes. Bet you wish you really were off to Paris, don’t you?”

Harry didn’t answer for a moment, then finally reluctantly nodded.

The guy laughed again, and held out his hand for Harry to shake, apparently unfazed. “I’m Louis,” he said, poking his hand a little more insistently into his space when Harry didn’t immediately shake it, “Though, you’d already know that if you’d taken more than a two-second look at my glowing profile, if I do say so myself.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You wish.”

Louis pursed his lips in thought.

“I mean, it was kind of a lame joke,” Harry defends. “And too sexual for a dating profile.”

Louis laughs. “You don’t use Tinder much, do you?”

Harry blushes even _further._ He’s beginning to think he’s maybe got a complex. “I use it enough.”

“No, no,” Louis says, reaching out a hand to brush at Harry’s hair, “Curls like that, you certainly don’t need it. But it is mainly a hookup app nowadays, and I’m assured an outrageously funny and vaguely sexual joke like that is exactly what’s called for.”

Harry wraps his curls around his finger bashfully, trying to pull them backwards and hide them. They are awfully long and ostentatious, but he hadn’t actually been self-conscious about it until now. He also had, in theory, known Tinder was mainly for hookups, but he wasn’t lying when he said he barely used it, and wasn’t aware of his faux pas. Louis seemed to be quite the expert though.

“Of course, me mate set it up the account for me three months ago and I haven’t actually seen any success from it, but also he’s running the account and probably forgot about it,” Louis admits.

Harry giggles. “You don’t even run your own Tinder?”

“Why should I?” Louis looks offended Harry would even ask. “With my looks and dazzling personality, it should be abundantly clear that I don’t need to meet anyone through an _app_ ,” Louis said with disdain.

Harry did think to himself that if Louis’ friend had just picked a picture of his face on his profile, this whole situation would probably be very different and a lot less awkward (or potentially, much _more_ awkward), as Harry probably would have swiped right.

He also wanted to point out that his older sister had met her boyfriend through an app and now they were happily living together, but Louis was looking at Harry with a considering look again, and it seemed like he had moved on.

“So, where did you go, to kill time between your missed flight to Paris and finding yourself on this lucky flight to London?” Louis asked. “What lucky Starbucks was lucky enough for you to grace it with your presence?”

Harry shook his head quickly, looking down at his hands. “No, just the loo,” he admitted.

Louis barked out a laugh again and reached out to push Harry’s shoulder backwards. “You dirty little minx.”

“Dirty is right,” Harry snorted and Louis laughed again.

He turned suddenly serious though, settling into his seat beside Harry just as the flight attendant’s made an announcement, likely about them closing the doors and getting ready to taxi. “Now. This is very important. I have introduced myself to you, twice if you consider your quick glance at my glowing profile, but you have now endured two witty conversations with me without offering your name, and thanks to _your_ impulsive and incorrect decision, I cannot even find it through checking my Tinder matches.

“You wouldn’t even be able to check, anyway, if your friend runs your account—” Harry points out.

Louis’ eyes narrow and snaps, “Irregardless! I will need a name, and quickly, as I cannot continue to call you ‘the cute curly boy’ in my mind for the remainder of this overnight flight,” he declared.

Harry giggled and offered his name.

“Ahh yes,” Louis nodded sagely. “Like the boy wizard.”

Harry pursed his lips. He’d gotten that one a lot. “I think my Mum was going more for like, the prince?”

Louis narrowed his eyes, “Now, Harold.”

“Just Harry.”

“Harold,” he continued. “If this seatship is to continue, I’ll need you to indulge me my whims,” Louis announced.

Harry nodded, pretending to take him _very_ seriously while still giggling through the safety demonstration. “Understood.”

“Good,” Louis nodded, importantly, then snuck a grin at Harry. “So I’ve got some Haribo in my bag, would you like some?”

Harry grinned and nodded quickly.  

 

As it turned out, lame Tinder profiles aside, Louis was actually a very charming and cute boy. After munching on gummy bears through the safety demonstrations, they’d chatted through takeoff until being politely asked to keep their conversations quiet to respect passengers trying to sleep. Louis had quickly suggested they sync up their televisions to the same movie, so it would be like they were watching together, then graciously let Harry choose, even though he looked dismayed by Harry’s choice of _Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again._

“I will admit, that Colin Firth,” he paused for dramatic effect, in which Harry re-evaluated his previous re-evaluation, afraid Louis was about to insult one of his favorite actors. Luckily, Louis followed up with, “can still get it.”

Harry broke out into giggles again, something he felt he was doing embarrassingly often around Louis. “But not as good as in _Bridget Jones’s Diary,_ right?” He clarified, to which Louis pursed his face and asked if that was the one with the constipated fella back in the 1800s.

“No,” Harry corrected, “I think you’re thinking of _Pride and Prejudice.”_

A look of dawning fell over Louis face, and he nodded seriously. “Right, of course.” He did look slightly abashed to have forgotten the name to such a well-known story.

“His name is Darcy in this one, too, so I can see where the mistake came from, but _Bridget Jones’s Diary_ is the one with Renée Zellweger, where she keeps a diary and him and Hugh Grant fight over her. It’s one of my favorite films.”

“And why wouldn’t it be?” Louis agrees, “Sounds like very high art.”

Harry pouted. “It doesn’t have to be high art to be good. There are plenty of films that are worth watching that are campy and silly and not at all serious--” Louis cut him off with a hand placed over Harry’s on the armrest between them.

“I’m kidding, young Harold. It sounds like a marvelous film. You’ll have to show it to me, sometime.”

Harry blushed, and looked down at their hands. Louis hadn’t lifted his, even though his point had been made. “They uh, they might have it?” He suggested, nodding towards the television so he wouldn’t have to lift his hand to gesture and break the moment.

Louis nodded, considering, “Yes, of course,” then reached up his right hand to flip through the films on offer. While he did, he tightened the grip of his left hand around Harry’s fingers. After a few minutes (and more than a few furious pokes at the unresponsive touch screen,) he sighed dramatically. “Alas, unavailable.”

Harry privately thought that that made sense, as it was almost twenty years old and most of what they had were recent releases, but he didn’t want to interrupt Louis on what was clearly gearing up to be another tirade. He could tell Louis went on quite a lot of these, and seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice.

He thought the dramatics of the profile made a good deal of sense and that whoever had set that up had represented Louis to a t, but again, realized that now was not the right time.

“I suppose you’ll just have to spend some more time with me so that I may experience this cinematic masterpiece for myself,” Louis suggested and Harry nearly choked on his own spit.

“R-really? Like, in London?”

“ _Yes_ , Harold,” Louis insisted, as if there were no alternative. “You’ve spoken so highly of this masterpiece, how could you possibly keep it from me any further?

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered.

“Well I do. Next Friday, you’ll come round my flat and you’ll show it to me, and I will decide for myself whether I believe this film is worth the considerable buzz you have created around its existence.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “Okay, I’m free next Friday.”

“It’s settled then,” Louis grins at him, then points to the television. “I, also, have not seen _Crazy Rich Asians_ , and I am under the impression you may enjoy this film as well?” He suggested. Harry nodded slowly. “Well then it’s decided! Our next film sorted. Settle in, Harold,” he said, finally pulling his hand away from Harry’s to push their seatrest up, then holding up his arm up for Harry to settle in under his side. Harry blushed, but cuddled in close anyway.

It occurs to Harry, while he watched Constance Wu school her TA in game theory, that he may have a date set up for the following week. And then it occurs to him once she and Nick are fighting over dessert and Louis leans his head against the top of Harry’s hair, pulling Harry in closer to his chest in the process, that no, he _definitely_ has a date for the following week, and that this is perhaps the most roundabout way of ever arranging a Tinder date.

About halfway through the film, the flight attendants walk around with dinner, and Louis insists on each of them ordering a glass of wine, even if it does come in a cheap plastic cup, and that they pause the movie while they eat.

“It’s not in the least bit romantic,” is his rationale, “to watch a film while eating dinner,” he explains, tipping his wine cup against Harry’s in a cheers gesture. Harry smiles, and allows Louis to steal one of the carrots from Harry’s packet in return for Louis offering a bite of the mini salad offered on his meal. Louis also insists on feeding it to Harry off of his fork, and while Harry finds it a little ridiculous, he acquiesces nonetheless, and lets Louis stuff a forkful of lettuce into his mouth with terrible aim, smearing dressing all around his face.

Harry falls asleep quickly into the second half of the film, and wakes up after they’ve already brought the second round of meals around.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Louis greets, smiling down at where Harry’s squinting up at him from his shoulder. He’s drinking a cup of tea and has two breakfast bars on the tray table in front of him. “Had a nice sleep, did you?”

Harry only nods, yawning and glancing towards the window. It’s still closed, but he can see bright sunshine shining in through one a few rows ahead, and the lights on the plane have been turned back on, most of their fellow passengers awake.

“What time’sit?” Harry mumbles. Louis smiles fondly and answers, “around 10am, London time. You were out for most of the flight.”

Harry stretches and hums. “Sorry,” he apologizes, not exactly sure whether it’s for falling asleep on Louis’ shoulder, falling asleep and not continuing their conversation, or something else entirely.

Louis just smiles again, and gestures to his television, where an old episode of _Friends_ is playing without any headphones attached. He’s returned Harry’s to the flight summary, likely to watch their progress while Harry slept. “Not a problem, love. You mumble in your sleep, you know.”

Harry groans and covers his face with his hands. “I am aware.”

Louis laughed, that bright and wonderful thing that Harry had already become so accustomed to.

“It’s adorable,” Louis assures him, before he can become even more embarrassed, or worry too much about what he might have been saying. “Totally endearing, you were telling some story about how you’d met this handsome, charming chap on an airplane? And that he’d swept you off your feet, and you were bound to ride off into the sunset together….on horseback.”

Harry groans again, but out of begrudging appreciation this time. Louis has somehow taken something that should be horribly embarrassing for Harry and turned it around on himself, making it into an inside joke between the two of them.

He truly is Harry’s dream man.

Which is a bit of a scary thought for Harry to be having at this point, but regardless. It’s the mark of a truly sweet and sincere guy to have the opportunity to take the piss out of Harry and instead turn it around on himself.

Harry smiles up at Louis then reaches out for one of the breakfast bars and bites in. “There’s still forty minutes left in the flight. We’ve got time for a few episodes of _Friends_.” He gestures at their televisions and a grin breaks across Louis’ face.

“I like the way you think, you devious little thing, you.”

They only set up Louis’ television this time, and share one ear each of his headphones, which Harry considered one of the most romantic things a couple could do all through sixth form, and is very pleased to finally have an excuse to fulfill his sixteen-year-old fantasies.

By the time they disembark, they have another date in the diary, at a wine bar in Embankment, (“the oldest one in London,” Louis had gushed, “you get to drink in a _crypt_ ,” to which Harry had giggled but was quietly just the teeniest bit nervous about, since he was quite claustrophobic.) _Plus_ their _Bridget Jones_ movie night, plus Harry had asked him to come to his weekly pub quiz with his mates. Optimistic, but, Louis was friendly as all hell and even if it didn’t work out, he knew he’d get on with their little trivia team. Louis, as he pulled his bag down from the overhead locker also grabbed Harry’s own backpack to carry up the aisle (which Harry personally found a little annoying, as he’d just need to grab it once they were going through immigration, but he could understand Louis was trying to be chivalrous,) crowed excitedly about what a spectacular first date this had been, and that Harry best be excited for their third date, when Louis could finally demonstrate his terrible horse riding skills, a shit eating grin on his face.

Harry blushed and tried to push him along the aisle ahead of him, Louis tripping slightly over his own feet.

Yes, Harry thought, as they stepped out onto the tarmac and into the dreary London weather once again, before being shuffled back towards the Heathrow gates and through immigration, Louis chatting much too loudly for 11am, especially when he hadn’t slept at all, yes, Harry very much loved airports. Even if they were rarely appreciated, they were a truly special place.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a shitshow but i finished a fic for a writing challenge which i've never actually done before despite entering several so 😝


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